Louder! Faster! FUNNIER!
This catchphrase was an old joke amongst my theatrical colleagues. It’s a mockery of poor direction; when one doesn’t know how to fix a comedic scene, just tell the actors to be louder and faster! That’ll make it funnier, right?
Quite the opposite, actually.
In my last post, I reflected upon the importance of slowness, especially in the writing process. I described how my own writing journey has been marked by learning to sit with the story—to embrace the magic of creativity in all its laborious glory. With some help from David Epstein, I pointed out that ‘desirable difficulty’ is what produces growth. “The tension of sitting in that silence is making me a better listener. A better writer. A better storyteller. A better human.”
For Part 2, I turn from writing to the other love of my creative life: theatre.
This summer, I returned to acting after a nine-year absence. It was a delight to be back in the rehearsal room with other actors, scripts in hand, preparing for a show. Yes, we were all excited about the performances to come. But I found myself pausing often during rehearsals, looking around, and reflecting on the sheer joy of the process.
It’s messy. It’s slow. It takes a lot of stopping, trying something new, deciding it doesn’t work, and trying something else. It requires intense listening: to my instincts, my fellow actors, and my director.
But the long, messy process of rehearsal—that’s where the magic happens. A group of individuals are coming together to play, and in our playing, we make meaning. We tell a story. We cultivate connection.
We become better humans.
Once again, I turn to the work of David Epstein. In his new book Inside the Box, he uses Pixar as an example of effective constraints. (Check out this short video explanation here, and a blog post from David’s Substack here!) Pixar directors are asked to pitch THREE movie ideas, not just one. As David points out, we tend to get fixated on our first idea, even if it’s not the best one. Being required to generate alternatives can stretch our creative muscles and usually produces better results.
I saw this principle at work in the rehearsal room this summer. Neil Simon’s Rumors is a classic farce, complete with slamming doors and mad dashes up and down the stairs. It would be easy to cling to one’s first idea of how to deliver a witty sentence or unlock the physical humor hidden between the lines. We were working under a deadline, after all. And isn’t comedy all about SPEED?
Our director, though, encouraged us all to keep trying new things. The first idea was just a foundation: a strong place to stand so we could leap and discover new heights. Often, it was the second or third – or even seventh! – idea that produced the most hilarity. It took a few weeks of stumbling around in slowness to land on the polished production we have now.
When we rush the process just for the sake of speed, we risk leaving some of the best ideas on the table, undiscovered.
Again: fast isn’t terrible. There are wonderful rehearsals where a moment simply comes together, seamless and authentic and fully itself. But I also want to savor the other times—the times of painful slowness when my fellow actors and I spend an hour on a single page of a single scene.
Meaning is being made. Stories are being told. Muscles are being conditioned.
Slowness is where the magic is happening.
Last’s posts concluded with a Treebeard quote. This time, I leave you with the wise words of Wendell Berry – a soul-friend of Treebeard, recently gone to his rest:
Suppose we did our work
like the snow.
Quietly, quietly,
leaving nothing out.
– Wendell Berry